Varchie Drabbles
by ForASecondThereWe'dWon
Summary: A collection of the Varchie-centric drabbles I've previously posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon), each based on one or multiple prompts, as requested by my followers. Drabble collections also available in Bughead, Choni, Falice, and other flavours. Rating may change.
1. Something Sweet

**Author's Note:**

From "The Way You Said 'I Love You'" tag, prompt 9: When baking chocolate chip cookies.

* * *

The door was unlocked. Even in the middle of the day, in a safe neighbourhood, this was unusual. It was particularly unusual at the Andrews house, which Veronica knew to typically boast multiple locks―plus a certain hunky, baseball bat-wielding teenager. She knocked several more times, then took a look up the block in either direction. Cars passed, dogs patrolled lawns, children played hopscotch in every other driveway. If the Black Hood had come a-calling, he'd done it with unbelievable stealth. But Veronica didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Even if she had, she wouldn't have been sufficiently prepared for what she found in the kitchen.

"Well, well, well," she said, announcing herself and relaxing into a more casual visiting posture, purse handle tucked neatly in the crook of her arm, "What have we here?"

The kitchen island was strewn with ingredients and cooking implements―more than Veronica thought she could've named had she been asked to produce a list. It was tidy though, tidier than Archie, anyway, who had clearly been ridding his hands of flour using his forehead and the legs of his jeans, alternately.

"Ronnie, hi!" Archie's body language screamed distraction, but he was never one to cheap out on her, especially in the smile department. He gave her a charming grin. "Come in!"

Her boyfriend bounded gracefully to her, kissed her cheek, and turned back to the island.

"I'd hug you," he added, glancing up again, "but my hands are coated."

"I noticed," she acknowledged chirpily. "Why the pop-up bake shop, Martha Stewart?"

Once more, Archie dragged his eyes away from the counter. They had landed on a recipe card, she noticed, hidden between canisters of she didn't know what.

"Um," the wipe of a hand added a new streak to his forehead, "there's a reporter coming from Greendale this afternoon to interview my dad about his run for mayor. I heard somewhere that baking makes your house smell nice when you're trying to sell it, but I figured it would work in any situation where you need to make a good impression."

"And Fred would be…?"

"Upstairs, practicing what he's going to say."

"So you're doing this to help your dad. I should've guess that one." She smiled adoringly at him. His generosity and thoughtfulness were never the surprise, only the ways in which he employed them. As Archie became absorbed again, apparently double-checking the temperature on his preheated oven, Veronica disposed of her jacket and handbag. "Put me to work," she demanded, fists on hips.

"Oh, uh, you don't have to, Ronnie, really."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You don't think I can?"

Archie snorted.

"I've _never_ thought that about you. I just don't want to ruin…" He waved a hand to address her outfit. _Sweet_ , she thought.

"You must have an apron somewhere in this kitchen. You seem to have just about everything else." Veronica nodded at the cluttered island. "Or you could just take off that shirt you're wearing."

"And have you put it on over your nice clothes?"

"Not necessarily." She smirked at Archie, watching the blush creep up his face.

Without responding, he began ducking, opening cupboard doors, drawing out sliding drawers. He straightened up, plain dark purple apron in hand, and passed it to her.

"My mom must have left it."

"Aha, Mary Andrews has good taste. My colour and everything."

She slipped it over her head and Archie gestured for her to turn. After he'd tied her in, his warm hand squeezed her waist, leaving the first flour smear on the apron. Suddenly, Veronica didn't really want to bake (she wanted to kiss him), _but_ she'd pledged herself to the Fred Andrews campaign, and every little bit she could do would feel like penance for the time she'd wasted believing in her father's schemes.

"Alright, Archiekins," she said energetically, moving to view the recipe, "where did you leave off?"

Baking, it turned out, was a breeze. It helped that Archie was already halfway through when she started, that he had everything measured out in advance, and that he noticed immediately when she leaned her hip against the oven (during one of the several times she got caught up in how sexy he looked, flour smudges and all) and accidentally raised the temperature to double what it was supposed to be. Also, Veronica was absolutely certain that he was curating jobs for her as they went so that she always ended up with the easiest tasks, but she didn't mind. It was so kind, so gentlemanly that even while he was taking care of his dad, he was taking care of her too. Previously, her forte had been more ordering desserts than making them from scratch, and yet… with him, it wasn't so bad.

While their creations cooked, Veronica found a flour mark on the back pocket of Archie's jeans that she decided to help him brush off. Coincidentally, he claimed to have spotted a crumb of batter on her lip from where she'd snuck a spoonful of raw cookie dough which, apparently, only his tongue could remove. The timer her boyfriend had diligently set went off a few minutes later, ensuring things outside the oven didn't get as hot as the cookies inside it. It was close though.

As the cookies cooled on a rack, Veronica produced―magician-like―a handful of chocolate chips.

"Ronnie," Archie groaned, "those were supposed to go into the batter! You don't add them at the end!"

She shushed him.

"Relax, Archiekins. I put the rest in before we baked the cookies. I know what I'm doing."

Veronica shooed him away to get started on washing the dishes she'd already promised to dry. After staring hard at Archie's back to make sure he wouldn't turn around and spy on her, she carefully arranged the chocolate chips on three cookies; she figured he could spare that many out of the two dozen they'd made. Once the chocolate chips had melted into the surface of the cookies enough that they wouldn't roll off, Veronica grabbed her boyfriend by the arm and rotated him, revealing her work with a flourish. He read off the message―"I," a heart, and a "U"―and she revelled in the transparency of his delight, savouring his smile.

"What's this for?" he asked shyly. _Oh Archie_ , she thought, _as if you haven't earned it_.

"I'm just proud of you." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're doing so much for your dad. You're loyal and giving and I don't deserve you." His eyebrows raised. "Ok," Veronica allowed, "I do deserve you."

He kissed her and held her close with his arms, keeping soapy hands away from her back.

"Think we could do this again? I think I'm a natural," Veronica joked.

"Sure," Archie agreed, easily and sincerely, leaning down to flip a strand of hair out of her now-floury face with his nose, "I think you are too."


	2. You Move Me

**Author's Note:**

From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 64: "Talk to me."; prompt 92: "Let's move in together."; and prompt 94. "What time is it?"

* * *

The first time, she asked him. He said no because it was too soon and maybe they weren't in love and it seemed like there was something going on between his dad and her mom and they should wait and see.

The second time, he asked her. She said no, reluctantly, because he was still under his dad's roof and she loved him too much to keep pulling him into the perpetually oncoming path of her father's rage.

The third time, she didn't bother asking.

"Let's move in together," Veronica suggested, gripping tightly to Archie's hand as they sat side by side, purposely crowded together in a booth at Pop's because even now, two years after it had begun, there was no such thing as being too close.

Archie stared at the twin pieces of paper on the table. Same typeface. Same fancy crest. Same folds where some secretary or assistant or kiss-ass undergrad with time to burn in the Dean's office had done their work with anal precision. Identical acceptance letters to Boston University. He pressed cautious fingertips to the one bearing his name, as if it would dissolve like some secret spy message, and gently rotated it until it aligned perfectly with Veronica's.

He looked sideways at his girlfriend, letting their eyes lock like he was sliding home a deadbolt.

"Yeah," Archie agreed with an eager nod, "let's do it."

Boston was busy and expensive compared to Archie's Riverdale, but not too bad at all compared to Veronica's NYC. Because she was so insistent, Archie let Veronica handle the apartment hunting; he was confused yet pleased to find it didn't involve multiple treks to Boston, thanks to the internet and the real estate agent Veronica had hired to be her proxy.

Archie was involved and solicited for input when the search narrowed, then retreated, smiling as he made dinner or watched a muted baseball game at his dad's while Veronica paced in the kitchen, dictating their requests and demands in the same tone to the agent.

"Talk to me," she'd order, answering a call from the Massachusetts Suit, and Archie's grin would widen.

Finally, they had their place. Their things were in boxes by the front door, waiting to be hefted into a rented moving truck in the morning. They spent one last night in the room where Archie had slept since childhood. Yes, they had hot, intense, 'farewell old life, hello new' sex. Naturally. Then, they pressed close, holding hands, entwining ankles, brushing lips, consumed by each other and the excitement of tomorrow.

"What time is it?" Veronica whispered to him, smiling smugly because she was closer to their phones on the bedside table and knew Archie would have to roll on top of her to check. He performed his task with an overstated groan, burying his face in the warm crook of her neck before flopping back to the mattress.

He woke his phone up and they squinted, blind.

"Midnight," Archie read when he was able. "Midnight exactly."

"August 1st," Veronica murmured back to him. "Archie Andrews, we are officially in possession of that apartment."

And because he couldn't put anything else into words, Archie gathered his girlfriend close and pressed his nose into her hair and just said, " _Ronnie_."


	3. Coach Ronnie

**Author's Note:**

From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 16: "Excuse you?"

* * *

Archie jogged towards the sidelines, helmet in hand and head down as sweat ran, stinging, into his eyes. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his performance on the field so far, just that he was too tired to accidentally catch one of his teammates' eyes and get sucked into a stupid blame-trading bicker-fest. Somebody shouldered into him, but he ignored it instead of looking up to see if it had been done on purpose.

Once the white stripe had been trampled underfoot by himself and the rest of the Bulldogs thundering off the field, Archie glanced towards his coach―not Coach Clayton, but the eager, take-no-prisoners up-and-comer running the show while their regular leadership was home puking his guts out.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" Veronica shouted, getting in front of a burly blocker as he attempted to escape to the water pitcher. Archie looked on, wiping damp hair back from his forehead, as the guy sheepishly sidestepped her.

"And you?" she accused, grabbing another player by his helmet's face mask and jerking his head down to her height.

Archie stayed out of her way, hand on his hip as he just tried to catch his breath. Something wasn't connecting today and they were getting pounded out there, down by two touchdowns already. What made it even worse was that this was a home game. He grabbed up his water bottle and squirted some across his face and down the back of his neck; when he mopped his chin with the edge of his jersey, it already felt wet. Great. He probably stunk even more than he realized.

He tuned back in to witness Veronica haranguing Reggie. She was smaller in stature than ever today―swapping the heels for something a little more field-friendly―but that wasn't stopping her from getting right in the captain's face.

"At any point in this game do you plan to start demonstrating a little captaining?!"

Reggie tried to brush her off with a sneer and a roll of his eyes, but this was one member of the team Archie knew his girlfriend wouldn't show mercy to.

"I'm serious!" Veronica promised, crossing her arms around the clipboard she'd held tightly in her grip all day. "They need you and I've never seen you looking so lifeless! So… flaccid."

Archie half-turned his head to hide his smirk.

"Yeah?" Reggie suddenly snapped, chucking his helmet at the ground. Archie took a step forward, ready to jump in and protect his girlfriend should need arise. "Well, maybe you should take a different tack that yelling at us! I know you haven't watched too many football games, but have you at least seen a football movie?" Reggie demanded. "Spoiler, all the coaches do one thing: _inspire_ the players."

"So?" Veronica shot back. Archie could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking, despite her brusque reply.

"So, give us a little inspiration, Lodge!"

It was like his words were magnetic, Archie thought, making the team crowd in around them. Captain and Coach in the center.

"I wish she'd inspire us the way she 'inspires' Archie," some asshole in the huddle snickered too loud. Archie opened his mouth to root, and then ream, the guy out. He wasn't quick enough.

" _Excuse_ you?" Veronica challenged, immediately finding the culprit and striding up to him.

For a second, heart pounding as he stood by, Archie was certain his girlfriend was going to slap the kid. But she didn't. She stopped and addressed the group without taking her eyes off the mouthy idiot Archie was considering having a little chat with in the locker room after the game.

"This is your problem," Veronica clarified with an upward flick of her eyebrows. "You're jealous of each other. You're playing like you're waiting for things to be whatever absurd idea of 'fair' you've gotten into your envious minds and it is not going to happen. You need to put this childish 'gimmee' attitude out of your heads and support each other!"

She turned to lecture the rest of the circle, guys leaning in with hands on each other's shoulders now.

"I don't want to see you losing interest in the ball as soon as it's caught by someone who isn't you," she told them, "or thrown by someone who isn't you, or faked to someone you isn't you, or has even a yard of ground cleared and protected by someone who _isn't you_. Because you _are_ the one we need on that field―your brain as much as your body!" Veronica emphasized, imparting earnest looks as she met each player's eye. "This is a team sport, Bulldogs!" she shouted, making Archie grin. God, he hoped Jughead was filming this from the stands because it would be fun to watch back with Ronnie later.

"And I give you permission to immerse yourselves in your brothers' triumphs," Veronica said, "but not in jealousy." Suddenly, she was looking at Archie's face, just his, and approaching him as her team for the night moved aside. "Live vicariously through them," she instructed, "and let their victories be yours."

Without another word, Veronica tugged Archie by the neck of his jersey and the heavy pad beneath it, bringing him down for a passionate, night-making kiss. Rather than expressing their disgust, complaints, or dirty comments, several whooping cheers went up around them. Archie was smiling before she'd even pulled away, and felt lightheaded once she did.

"Go get 'em, Bulldogs," she commanded, holding Archie's stare.

The pack broke apart, gleefully slapping whoever's back, chest, or shoulder was closest, and charging back onto the field.


	4. Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 19: "I could kill you right now."

* * *

Practice had been awesome. The Bulldogs were starting to operate like a team again for the first time since they'd absorbed a few Serpents into their ranks. Today's plays had been sharper, the tackles less sloppy, and the morale high as the boys' enthusiasm for the sport rose above mere discipline―like bubbles in a shaken Coke.

The untameable adrenaline had fueled Archie's jog home―backpack slamming hard against his sweaty t-shirt with every footfall―and urged him to vault the fence's gate and land in the backyard. He bounded through the back door and into the kitchen, catching the knob before the door could slam.

His dad looked up from the island, where the draft of a contract for a new project lay. Just another thing Archie's mom had been helping Fred out with, apparently exchanging calls and emails almost daily. Archie was relieved to have his parents getting along; it took a huge stress out of his waking hours. Plus, he knew his dad really needed the support. With the mayoral turnover, Andrews Construction was in a race against time to close on development deals before the Lodges (minus Veronica) got their corrupt fingers on them.

"Hey, kid, you look happy," Fred remarked, shuffling the papers into an imperfect pile.

Archie grinned, slinging his backpack onto the nearest chair. He opened his mouth to reply, but the shrill scream that rang from another part of the house would've made his words incomprehensible even if he'd gotten them out. His head swung towards the noise, then back to his dad.

Fred's eyebrows rose.

"Laundry day… apparently."

"Seriously, dad? You're making her do the laundry?" Archie reached down to scratch Vegas's ears. The noise had woken the dog from his spot under the table, though his surprise was quickly soothed by Archie's presence.

Fred raised his hands like the whole thing was beyond his control.

"She insisted. Can you imagine? Your girlfriend being so adamant about something?" The joke drew a smirk from the corner of his dad's mouth and Archie laughed.

"Guess I better go see."

"I'm just going to take the dog for a walk. A _long_ walk," Fred amended, whistling to bring Vegas to his feet. "You two can sort things out."

It didn't take long to find the source of the shriek; there was shuffling and banging coming from the laundry room. Archie grabbed the door frame and twisted around the corner.

"Ronnie, what's―"

"I could kill you right now," Veronica said, spinning on the balls of her feet where she was crouched in front of the washing machine, dragging soggy clothes from its cavernous mouth.

"What? What's wrong?"

Archie stepped into the small room with his girlfriend and she sprung to her feet.

"See for yourself!" Veronica pointed sharply down at the limp pile in the laundry basket.

"Ooh. Uh oh."

At first, he'd thought it was a wash of all blue clothes, then Archie remembered he didn't have that many blue clothes―especially not the bright blue that seemed to be coating these items in an uneven splatter.

"Yes, 'uh oh,'" she mocked severely. The way Veronica crossed her arms was as threatening as if she'd just pulled a knife.

"I swear…" Archie began, losing his train of thought as he caught sight of the righteous fire in her eyes. "… I didn't mean to."

"Oh, I figured that much. Throwing a cerulean pair of gym shorts into a washing machine full of whites does demonstrate a rather obvious lack of intention."

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a run. I just tossed the shorts in the washer, Ronnie, I swear I had no idea―"

"―that some people go to the trouble of organizing and preparing their laundry the night before? Well, guess what, Varsity Blues!" she snapped. He probably shouldn't laugh. Definitely shouldn't laugh. Archie clamped his lips tightly together. "I'm a laundry novice and I'm just trying to keep on top of it while I figure this whole new living situation out! Believe it or not, I don't want to be here doing my laundry! It just happens to be a perk of being disinherited by your father that you are also no longer welcome under his roof!"

Archie heaved an exaggerated sigh, trying to subliminally encourage his girlfriend to pause and take a deep breath.

"And now all my whites smell like _eau de bro!_ "

He watched her face, her panting mouth.

"You done?"

"NO!" Veronica glanced around the little room and dropped her arms to her sides. "Yes," she admitted more calmly.

Archie put his arms out to her.

"Come here."

Her eyes swept over him.

"Absolutely not. You're covered in grass stains and you smell like a thousand push-ups. Actually," Veronica wryly pointed out, "now would be a great time for you to do your laundry."

"If only I could be trusted to separate my whites from my colours," Archie cracked, giving her a grin and starting to back out of the room.

"Oh no you don't, Archiekins," she argued, beckoning him back in with a crooked finger. "I'll tell you what to do."

Archie rolled his eyes.

"I've been doing laundry for years, Ronnie. One slipup doesn't put me back to square one."

"Why don't we let the person who's just had half their nude underwear dyed blue make that decision?"

"Fine. But, Ronnie, the laundry's done. What am I supposed to sort?"

Her gaze traveled over him and back to his face. She kicked two laundry baskets in his direction.

"You tell me," Veronica teased, and motioned for him to lift his shirt.

Archie laughed to himself and peeled it off. He did actually feel better without it. Minus the wind from his run to whip the scent away, the thing was starting to smell pretty foul. Veronica pointed to a basket and he let the shirt fall. She gave him a coy tilt of her head, so he dropped his shorts. She pointed, he sorted. Clammy socks? Point, sort. Archie was left standing in his boxers.

"We done?"

"What do you think?"

Drop. Point. Sort.

Veronica drew her lower lip into her mouth, making Archie's cooling face redden again.

"How long?" she asked, unbuttoning her blouse.

"I thought I smelled like a thousand push-ups," he reminded her, leaning his naked body casually against the door frame. Her eyes narrowed at him. She was right, who was he trying to fool with this game of hard to get? "He's on his 'long walk' route, which means we maybe have… twelve minutes."

"Make them count," Veronica suggested, hopping up onto the edge of the washing machine and giving her dark hair a challenging toss.


	5. Kilt with Kindness

**Author's Note:**

From "The Way You Said 'I Love You'" tag, prompt 35: "Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you."

* * *

"You ready?" Jughead asked.

Archie could tell he was joking, but the question triggered instantaneous panic.

"No," he breathed, eyes un-focusing as he realized what he needed to do.

Jughead's hand passed in front of his face.

"What, you leave the oven on or something?"

Archie gripped his best friend's shoulder.

"Jughead, I need to use your phone."

"Of course," he promised, instantly serious. He began searching the pockets of his jacket while Archie anxiously curled and uncurled his fingers. "Shit, I left it in Betty's car. Sorry, man," Jughead called as Archie booked it down the hallway away from him, "but you're the one who said no phones at the ceremony!"

Back in his dressing room, Archie scattered the deodorant, cologne, and hair products on the desk. He fully unzipped garment bags to dig to the very bottom and run his fingers along the seams. Finally, he found his phone and dialed Veronica as quickly as he could without messing up and hitting the wrong numbers.

"Archiekins?"

"Ronnie," he signed, slumping into the wall as though shoved sideways by the force of his relief.

"Are you ok? Is something wrong? Should I send Betty? She's right here."

"Hey, Arch!" he heard Betty shout from nearby.

"No," Archie promised, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, no, no, nothing like that."

"Ok…" She left him free air to speak into without rushing him to divulge.

"I'm about to walk out there," he told her.

"I know, and I'll be right behind you."

Archie laughed, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

"Good to know. I just…" He sighed, not bothering to turn away from the phone. Veronica had never shied away from the emotions he expressed; Archie knew he could tell her anything. "Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you."

"Of course you have," she murmured.

Archie knew from her tone that the statement wasn't teasing arrogance, but he would've known that anyway. She'd never been that girl with him. That right there was her conveying her faith in him. Still, his heart was slamming in his chest, like somebody kicking a basketball off a wall.

"I love you right now," he continued, clenching his fingers around the phone in his earnestness. "And not because we've put so much money into the decorations or because you're going to come out in a beautiful white dress and my jaw is going to hit the floor." Archie laughed at himself and heard her laugh join in. "I love you without any of that and I'm glad it's happening today, but, Ronnie…" He exhaled slowly.

"Yeah?" Her voice was small and sweet. He didn't make her suffer with anticipation.

"… I think you're worth waiting for forever and I promise to love you that long."

"Don't cry! Don't cry!" he heard Betty yelp in the background. "I know it's waterproof, but let's not test that at _least_ until the exchanging of vows!"

Archie's eyebrows jerked together as his fiancée sniffled, then laughed, then sniffled again.

"Well, you heard my handler," said Veronica. "I better hang up before you set me off again."

"Sorry." He barely managed to stop himself from running a hand through his hair; he'd been teased enough by Jughead already for fussing with it in front of the mirror. "My sporran is stuffed with Kleenex if you need one later."

Veronica let out a giggle it sounded as though she'd tried to hold back.

"And how many people have commented on the size of your sporran because of it?"

"God," Archie groaned, "you don't even want to know. I had to pawn one of my uncles off on Jughead because he wouldn't shut up about it."

"And I bet Jughead loved that."

"I'm expecting to get 'accidentally' backhanded during the YMCA."

"Ok, ok!" Veronica shot out, and Archie knew it wasn't directed at him. "Sorry about my manic maid of honour. You better get out there before the runaway groom rumours start."

"Hey," Archie complained in a tone of mock offense, "only your side of the family would say something like that."

"I can't deny it," she sighed. "But it's just a few more hours and then you, me, and a private jet to Cuba."

"That sounds perfect, Ronnie." He smiled into the phone, knowing that, somehow, this woman would be able to hear it. "Really perfect."


	6. A Free Man?

**Author's Note:**

From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 95: "Just wait a second."

* * *

Nobody gave him a second look as he walked, un-cuffed, from the prison. It was the most invisible Archie had ever felt. There was no mystery here though, no puzzle to call in Betty and Jughead to solve. The other inmates, the guards, even the security cameras had turned away as he left, closely following the authoritatively clicking heels of Veronica Lodge.

Outside the building, he slowed his pace, just to watch her; spine stiff, clothes impeccable, she didn't so much as glance back at him, so certain must she have been that he was behind her. Not that Archie had been expecting to drop his pants in the vestibule of a detention centre and go at it on the streakily-mopped floor with his girlfriend. Not that he'd been expecting to see her here at all. The courthouse? Yes, to show support at his trial. A sudden, goddess-like intervention? That was a little suspicious.

"Just wait a second," Archie insisted, jogging a few steps to bring himself in stride with Veronica as they neared her glossy black town car.

"Archiekins, this isn't really the place to talk." She didn't even turn her head and her oversized sunglasses prevented him from reading her eyes.

He laughed in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on, Ronnie?"

Veronica halted, twisting to face him as she slid her sunglasses up into her hair.

"You were in, now you're out. There, you know as much as I do," she said, brushing him off with her words, but not the look in her eyes, which said things might be even more complicated than he was ready to guess.

Archie frowned.

"I don't believe that for a second. They," he gestured back towards the building, "would _not_ have let you walk out with me, totally unchallenged, if this was just another Veronica Lodge power play, ok? This is serious."

"Please. 'Unchallenged?'" She rolled her eyes. "What are you, a chocolate bar I'm trying to shoplift? You're right," Veronica agreed, poking him gently in the chest, "this _is_ serious. There are certain… certain steps I had to take to get you here with me, right now, in this parking lot." She wouldn't meet his eye.

"Which I expect you to tell me," Archie prodded after half a minute of silence it didn't look like his girlfriend was about to fill.

"In the car," she said, stepping around him.

"No, Ronnie" Archie caught up and reached out to tug her elbow. "Right now."

"At least come over to it with me," Veronica quietly urged, her shadowy gaze trying to convince him. "Someone could be listening."

Archie sighed.

"Something tells me they're not." But he followed her to the car, facing her as she leaned against the door to the backseat. Archie knew there was a driver in there, behind the wheel and the glass tinted so dark it had to be illegal.

"Ask me," Veronica dared him, making her expression inscrutable.

"How is this happening?" Archie demanded in low tones, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

"I took care of it."

"But anything you do―any move _I_ make, in particular―is going to trigger your father's desire for control. And I know how he gets control," Archie reminded her, remembering Papa Poutine, remembering the man in the woods near their cottage. "Revenge."

"I said I took care of it." Veronica opened her door, but Archie gripped it and crowded close to her before she could swing herself inside and smooth her skirt.

"He has people," Archie pressed.

"They're my people now."

He felt everything inside him plummet towards what was sure to be a jagged, rocky bottom.

"So, Hiram…"

"Won't be coming after you for his revenge," Veronica assured him, lowering her sunglasses back over her eyes. "Unless you believe in ghost stories."

Numbly, Archie released her door and she climbed into the car, slamming it shut. He hurried around to the other side. Because what else could he do? This gave getting in bed with the mob a whole new meaning.


End file.
